


Cramped

by Harebourg



Category: Wakfu
Genre: Bulldagger (Wakfu), Dogs, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:54:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5250617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harebourg/pseuds/Harebourg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place on the first time you meet Chad when you chase down the scout. AU after Chad wrecks the scout. Gender friendly Reader insert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cramped

You tip over a barrel you suspect the scout was cowering in –lo and behold– you were right. The scout unceremoniously tumbles out, landing on the floor mask down. You kick the barrel out of your way to release a bit of stress from letting him slip away from your mitts twice. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that– the skittish scout was spooked by the sound and recovers instantly. He’s running away again, mostly unscathed. You let out a huff in frustration and trudge after the scout once more. 

The scout doesn’t get far before running into an unknown character, knocking himself down to his rear. You halt in your chase, unsure if you’ll be double teamed with the blue haired newcomer. The scout looks up to the other before scurrying up to their side and whispers something to them. The other individual, clearly another resident of Srambad, looks at the scout in irritation and confusion. 

The newcomer lashes out and grabs he scout by the collar of his cloak. “No cops are allowed on my turf!” his last words becoming more venomous. They drag the scout forwards before yanking them backwards causing the scout to stumble towards his assailant. The other moves to the side and sinks a dagger into the scout’s exposed back. The scout lets out a cry of agony and turns into ashes that become soaked into the shadows on the ground. 

The remains of the scout, his blue shadowy cloak, stays impaled on his dagger. He takes a moment to pull it off, letting it become more shredded as the blade slices through the fabric. Once off, he tosses the cloth behind him into a barrel. 

Now that the scout was taken cared of, though you would’ve much preferred it to be by your own hands, the stranger sets his attention to you. He doesn’t let down his weapons, but he doesn’t appear to be as aggressive as before with the scout. In fact, one good look behind the holes of his mask shows a tinge of curiosity. Without warning, he takes a few steps towards you. Unsure what the stranger had his priorities on, you step back into a fighting position. He stops moving at your stance, still not sheathing his daggers.

“You’re not from here, are ya?” he notes.

You’re an obvious flag in Srambad due to your outsider attire. You answer that he is correct, but remain suspicious. 

The stranger sets his daggers on his sides, not quite out of sight, but you figure this is as passive as he’s going to show you. 

“I was looking for adventurers like you.” He takes a couple of more steps forward. “Name’s Chad O'Marcy. Friends call me Chad, if I had any.” 

Chad suddenly snaps his attention to the alleyway you used to corner the scout. You follow his gaze and hear the abrupt sound of whip cracks and dogs barking echoing through the tunnel. 

“I shoulda known better then to expect the authorities to one on one.” 

Chad dashes to you while your own attention was occupied. You involuntarily strike that the incoming Chad from your peripheral vision, but it misses entirely and he snags the arm that was supposed to deflect him. 

“We can hussle this out later– right now we need to keep a low profile for the mutts.” 

He drags you along with him, not giving you a second to pick up your own feet. He quickly turns the knob and shoves himself into door of a house and lets you go once you’re both inside. He dusts off the dust on his shoulder and locks the door with multiple built-in mechanisms. He looks around and decides to use a wooden crate as a makeshift barricade. The crate looked flimsy, but at least it was something. The rough handling was unnecessary, but right now you’re more concerned on what Chad was trying to do.

You ask him what is going on.

Chad claps his gloves together, a small dust of purple soot is emitted that dissolves as particles fall. “That guy you were chasing– he called in his friends for backup before he kicked the bucket. Trust me, even though we just met, the brass Sramvas and trainers aren’t something to sneeze at.” Chad shelves his daggers back on his belt. “Hide. The last thing you want is to be horked down by Dwarf Bulldogs.” The Sram jumps over a table, knocking over a skull ornament, and slides into a cabinet, closing the hatch when he’s inside. 

You’re in an unfavorable situation. He’s right about the Bulldaggers– you don’t feel the need for the small canines that were made out of brick stones to be biting down on your ankles. You look around for a decent place to hide. There are two tables parallel to eachother in the middle of the room, but they are too small and ‘in the way’ for your liking. To the wall, a few blue-purple coffins are lined up next to eachother, one coffin in particular was tipped over and lays pathetically battered on the floor. You make your way over and try to pry them open, but the nails were already implanted and the sides were glued shut (which means they’re being used right now, yikes!). The room was incredibly vague outside of the natural skull and bone decorations. With no clear viable choice to go, you leap over a table top and crawl down to the same cabinet Chad was in.

You open the cabinet with haste. Chad was resting inside, now awoken by your intrusion.

“Are you kidding-” 

You cram yourself right besides Chad, shoulders forced to touch, not concerned with his complaints at the moment. You hear a loud clash at the door of the house. The seemingly frail crate actually bought you the precious seconds to pull your legs in and shut the cabinet. 

You haven’t noticed until it you hear it echo in the small space– you’re breathing erratically. You take a moment to calm down so the sound wouldn’t expose your location. 

Another loud crack mixed with the sound of wood breaking apart signifies that the police are inside now. You hold your breath and slowly breathe out. Chad moves the arm not touching yours and lays a hand on your shoulder in reassurance, not taking his eyes off the cabinet’s gates. 

He leans over and whispers “Don’t worry so much. I use this place all the time. I sprayed this place with intenporal dust– makes it really hard for the dogs to follow.”

You hear the shuffling feet of the units outside and their dogs sniffing about. From what you can tell, they’re going towards the coffins first– one unit broke apart and went to the other side. Chad removes his hand from you and rests it back on his side. He looks incredibly more alert now, but you try not to opine the worst case scenario and try to divert your thoughts into something less stressful. 

Alas, your god must be on a day off today. Right above you, a quad of legs stomps on top of the cabinet. You hear the voice of a trainer telling his bulldagger 'No! Get down!’. The dog scurries over the surface and whines, making extremely uncomfortable scratching sounds to the insides of the storage, before landing back down to the floor. 

Chad wiggles the arm closest to you free and braces it in front of your chest, hand pressing onto the wall of the cabinet. A protective gesture could never be a good sign.

The same bulldagger is nudging against the wooden door of your cabinet now. Their trainer was too busy shouting commands at the other forces to speed up the process being done by the dog.

Chad swears under his breath and reaches out to the door. He lets it open and the breaching nose of the Bulldagger stuffs itself in the small crack. The dog wiggles it’s head in and stares it’s glowing green eyes straight at Chad before panting and (from the shadows you could see) wag it’s tail. Looking over, Chad wears an expression of annoyance. His elbow that was over your chest lowers down to your rib but remains on the wall.

“They would bring you when they’re trying to find me…” Chad looks over to you and says, “Hey, do me a quick favor-” Chad scoots forward, his foot dangerously close to the other cabinet’s entrance “-and reach into my back pocket.” 

You’re fully expecting an explanation for this once you’re out of hot waters. You use your hand that was already close to Chad and find the pocket he was referring to. He winces uncomfortably at the touch, so you make haste in pulling out whatever that he wanted. You feel a rough texture and grab it with your index and thumb. You were able to see exactly what you had in your hands with the lighting from the slightly ajar door. It’s a biscuit in the shape of a bone– the middle part was cracked enough for the piece to easily split apart. 

Chad takes the smaller cracked piece and breaks it off with his other arm. He carefully maneuvers the treat in a way so that his arm wouldn’t hit any of the wooden walls and blow their cover. The Bulldagger begins to drool and attempts to crawl inside, but the trainer is tugging on the leash, seemingly still unaware that his dog was not exactly focused on its job right now. Chad pushes the treat up to the bulldagger’s jaws. You were afraid that it would bite off Chad’s glove, but instead, it graciously laps up the biscuit and licks off any crumbs that have fallen. Finished with the biscuit, it looks at you now with the same excited gaze, knowing that you had the other piece.

“Feelin’ more demanding today, eh girl?” Chad scoots back in place that was a bit less risky for exposure. He turns to you, “Ya want to throw her the last part? She won’t bite, especially if I’m around.” Chad lowers the arm that was once in front of you.

You take Chad’s word for it and lean forward with the treat in front. The bulldagger scratches at the wood, trying to get closer to the goodie. You push the treat in front of the dog, just as Chad did, and brace yourself for some teeth. But thankfully, the dog only licks all over your hand for the biscuit and thoroughly cleans up any loose bits on the tips of your fingers.

Satisfied, the bulldagger backs up and lets the door close as her snout is pulled out. You hear her bark and walk off to the right, dragging her trainer away from your hideaway. You let out a sigh of relief.

Chad nudges your arm. “Bet'cha didn’t think gentle bulldaggers were real.” 

You don’t answer, being cautious of the police still searching the house, but this was certainly a new thing you discovered today. 

“They’re not here, move out!” a voice outside exclaims.

It doesn’t take long until the (more) armed forces wrap things up and proceed to the next house. After the last officer scuffles out, signified by the sound of what’s left of the door closing, Chad slowly opens the cabinet’s entrance with his foot. He motions you to come out as he moves behind the counter. He takes a quick look around behind the table and stands up as he deems it safe to.

“I hate that dog. She’s the only one that can find me no matter what, but at the same time she’s really easy to bribe to keep it quiet.” Chad stretches out the prolonged stasis out of his body. 

You slide out of your hiding place and extend some of your sleeping limbs. The place a lot more messier after the police force plowed through. The skull ornament Chad knocked over was in pieces now and the crate that held the door was only recognizable as a heap of wood. If you look closer at the table legs, you could see faint bitemarks from the bulldaggers.

Chad doesn’t seem bothered by the redecorating skills of the vice squad. You see him lean over the counter propped up with his hand on his jaw, scanning the room, perhaps thinking of using the mess as a potential new hiding spot.

You remind yourself that you need to head back to the Sram guild to turn in your report of the scout, who is now eliminated. You tell Chad that it’s been fun, but you should be going.

“Hmm. Alright, but a thing before you bail-” Chad turns around and circles you, stopping in front with a hand extended. “-In hopes that we meet again, adventurer.” 

You reach out to reciprocate, but instead of a simple shake, Chad pulls you in for a shoulder bump before releasing you and balling out of the shelter. You think to yourself that Chad was a pretty cool guy– until you get the feeling that your pockets are a bit lighter then from the start of the voyage.


End file.
